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Wednesday, 23 September 2015

The Girl Who Used to Write Poetry On Trains

This past July marked eleven years that I've lived here in Norway.

Each anniversary spurs me to mull over the years that stretch between the first and the latest.

There's been a lot of
life in between meeting a group of wild, friendly Norwegians on a white Icelandic
night in the wilderness at 2 something in the morning at the age of 18 and sitting
here now, 16 years later, in a city I never imagined living in all those
years ago when I traveled and lived for months out of a big backpack with the slogan
"War is not healthy for children and other living things" on it. Always
was a bit of an idealist. ;)

Some of those years were friendship, some were love, some were heartbreak.
Always this knowledge that in a lot of ways I am still that girl I was
at 18...waking up to write poetry on night trains that spun me across
these beautiful Northern countries, collecting cool, misty Scandinavian days and nights
in my mind, confident and optimistic because living was an adventure and if I met any challenges along the way, well, wasn't that what made the good stories? Wasn't that what laughter was for? To deal with the hard things?

This knowledge that I am still the
woman I was at 24, leaving Manitoba on a sweltering July morning and
knowing somehow that I wouldn't be going home this time. Then getting
engaged a month later, and married just over a month after that.

But then I catch myself, shake my head and think, I am not that girl, that woman, at all. Who WAS she? Why was she so confident?

11 years of everything. 11 years of complexity: becoming, undoing,
learning, regressing, loving, despair, light, darkness, journeys to far corners
of the Earth to bring together the family God had in mind for us.

Sometimes I am amazed and sometimes honestly, a little bit tired when I
think of the distances we had to go to for "regular" things...for a
family.

A beautiful baby boy handed to me by his weeping mother on a
dirty side street in Colombo. People stopping what they were doing to
stare at us, at the picture we made: the screaming baby, the sobbing
mother, the nuns holding her to keep her from collapsing on the road,
and us...feeling so wrong, just so indescribably wrong in the heavy
tropical heat, holding this piece of all of our hearts.

Then five
years later, a laughing judge in a courtroom in Chili saying in rapid
Spanish that we would have parental rights straight away and us,
bewildered, walking away from the courtroom with an almost three year
old son we'd known for three very short days. It was terrifying and
good. Just like that, suddenly ours. We were and were not ready. But
this time people were laughing, kissing our cheeks in congratulations.
This time no one's heart was breaking. It was as different as night from
day.

But after so many years of interviews that leave a person
with almost nothing of their own, the question that tags along behind me
like a child tugging on a mother's sweater is: Are you really good
enough? Are you? Are you? Are you?

So sometimes it feels like
a lot of the time in these years has been spent fighting so hard,
proving something to someone, proving we can do this thing, we promise,
not really ever free from scrutiny, yet also as a dear friend
wrote in a photo caption earlier, these are the "happy days". Maybe also the happy
years? It seems as good a description as any for these years that can't
be neatly labeled because no word can really sum up anything, let alone
the way it feels to live a life.

Maybe it is much more simple than I imagine and these, all these days, simply are the happy days because they are my days.

It's been a long and a short 11 years here in Norway. Grueling in a lot of ways. There have been so many lessons. So many surprises.

Maybe there is
not much more to say but that they've held everything. They've held all the love in
the world. Shattering and healing such a multitude of things...

This is so beautiful, Colleen. And bitter sweet. Even though I didn't go through what you did to have children, I only conceived after ten years of trying. And sometimes, when I struggle to make the right decisions for my children (& myself), I also ask "Am I good enough?" Thanks so much for sharing!

Thank you Monica! You went through your own struggles and heartbreaks in order to have children. I can't imagine all the things you must have experienced and felt during those ten years. You are very strong. We all have our own journeys don't we? I respect yours very much! Thanks for a thoughtful comment!

What a lovely life! I like your reflections. Uncertainty about one's life is truly one of the best things - you never know where life takes you. And then you might end up in beautiful Norway marrying one of those 'Northern' men :)

My dearest Colleen, Don't ever change, don't ever stay the same. You are lovely as you are, and I am so grateful that I could collect some of those precious experiences with you. What my mind forgets, I know my heart remembers as I yearn for our youth, our independence, our confidence, our carefree days. What we had in our youth was something no one can ever take from us. I hope we can always look back fondly on our travels and experiences. They will forever hold prime place in my being. As for if you are good enough,well, that isn't for you to decide because our Lord and Heavenly Father made every fibre of your being, and you are a galaxy in and of itself in a universe of galaxies, and yet, He chose you to become a Mother. I would say, you are more than good enough, and you are more than woman enough. Love you, dear and loyal friend.